


Fairy Lights

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Sexual Content, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-03 01:55:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2833892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian doesn't like Christmas, but that's too bad for him. Jim resolves to give him better memories of the holiday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fairy Lights

**Author's Note:**

> Written for mightymissjane on tumblr as her secret Santa present. Hope she enjoys~

 Sebastian was no stranger to coming home to a destroyed flat. Sometimes, when Jim was having a bad day, he would come back to windows smashed, all the furniture they owned toppled over and something leaking all over the floor. Sometimes his boss was having a “meeting” in their living room and the blood would stain the carpet, the walls, everything but Jim himself. When he left for an assignment he would sometimes come back to find Jim had barely moved, but that the flat had just fallen apart around him. To say he was used to seeing his home changed when he got home would be fair, he thought.

Every time he walked through the door, he was expecting the unexpected. A job had taken him away from London for a week, which meant the chances of coming home to a perfectly intact home were slim. It was miserable outside, his walk up the stairs of the building complicated by the thin layer of ice that covered every surface. He took the stairs two at a time, but stopped dead outside his own door.

Hands numbed by the cold, he fumbled in his pocket for a second before pulling out his keys and sliding hem smoothly into the lock. The first good sign, then: he hadn't been locked out. The door swung into the flat unobstructed, so at least the kitchen was relatively unharmed. He stepped through the door and closed it softly behind him, automatically searching for anything out of place.

He'd thought he was prepared for anything, but apparently not.

It took him a second to process the fact there were honest-to-god fairy lights hung from the ceiling. And a wreath on the back of the door he'd just closed. He stood completely still, fully expecting Jim to come bursting through the door to laugh at him. He would have to know, after all. But no such luck. He moved through the kitchen, dragging his suitcase behind him. The next room was no better: fairy lights and wreath above the fireplace, a tree in the corner covered in red and gold. Apparently the entire flat screamed _Christmas cheer,_ if his quick glance through the other doors was anything to go by. Sebastian shook his head, looking around the room to locate his boss. He was sitting in his usual chair, pale face back lit by the fireplace. He apparently hadn't gone into one of his destructive mood swings, and was just tapping away on his computer. There was no messy hair, or week-old cloths. He looked relatively normal, considering their surroundings.

“You decorated,” Sebastian pointed out, and Jim snorted.

“Always so observant,” He replied dryly, and Sebastian started again.

“Why exactly does it look like the holiday section of Tesco's exploded all over the flat?” He asked, gesturing vaguely around him. He could feel a lump in his throat every time he looked at the damned tree. Jim let out a long-suffering sigh and shook his head.

“Because it's December Twenty fifth, Sebastian. Didn't think Christmas was a difficult concept.” Sebastian just shook his head, dragging his tired body into the direction of the bedroom and flinging his suitcase onto the floor. There were more decorations, of course. Little red candles and a smaller fake tree. He turned on his heel as soon as the bag was out of his hand.

“I'm having a shower,” he announced, not even pausing as he stalked into the bathroom. He could feel Jim's eyes on his back. Normally he'd ask his boss to join him, after so long apart. Jim was even looking up like he expected it. But he was bitter, and petty, and about to relive far too many memories to focus on anything else.

Normally he would be able to say that the scalding water of a shower would wash away all his problems, but that wasn't the case this time. He could see the reflection of lights through the water-thinned shower curtain. Green and red outlines from the wreath on the door. Every year the world seemed determined to remind him that it was Christmas. It really shouldn't have been a surprise that Jim joined in, what with his penchant for making Sebastian miserable. 

His sisters, if asked, would spout off some bullshit about their father having just been a workaholic during the holidays. That was mainly because they'd never seen him, hand glued to a bottle, as he slapped their mother to the floor. They'd never been on the receiving end of his tirades, because of course the delicate ladies of the family weren't held to the same standards he was. No, he'd seen enough of his father's drunken rages to have decided against the idea of the holidays. So it only made sense that the man he would probably be spending the rest of his short life in the company of would love it. 

He's on autopilot, so he only notices that Jim's in the room when there's someone tracing the scars along his back. He barely jumps but knows Jim saw it, because Jim sees everything. And then there was hand in his hair, working away the soap Sebastian had left there. There's silence for a second, as Jim wraps his arm loosely around Sebastian's waist.

“I take it you're aren't just sulking about my decorating,” Jim hummed, and Sebastian sighed in defeat. He's have to explain it, now. But, he realizes, he should have expected more from his boss. Jim already knew everything there was to know about him. He can tell in the way Jim cards his hands through his uneven hair.

“Shame you don't like Christmas,” Jim murmurs, and Sebastian hadn't realized what was going on quite yet. 

“Too many bad memories,” he replied, and it's when Jim chuckles that he knows he's doomed. 

“Well,” Jim says slowly, and Sebastian stiffens as he feels Jim's hands slide down his back. “We'll just have to make some new ones then, hm?” His touches are gentle as he traces a path across Sebastian's back, thumbing every scar gently, like Sebastian is fragile enough to break. But half those scars he put there himself, and they both know it.

He's still infuriatingly gentle as his hands move around Sebastian's body to grab his cock. Sebastian falls forward, bracing himself against the wall of the shower. Jim's still chuckling in his ear, one hand gripping his shoulder as his other moves far too slowly. But Sebastian isn't going to say anything, because he knows how the game is going to be played. Jim stroked upwards, and Sebastian doesn't realize he's gasping until the air has rushed out of his lungs.

“Jim,” he groans, but he doesn't exactly have a chance to move. Jim's pressing up against him, trapping him against the shower wall, but he can't quite get the traction he needs. Jim's trailing kisses along his neck, whispering against his skin, and the water is still scalding down his back. Jim definitely turned it hotter, because between the pain from the water and Jim's hand he was starting to come undone.

“James,  _fuck_ \--” he starts, not sure if he's going to be able to finish that thought. Jim's hips buck and push him forwards and all his weight is against the wall now, hands trapped as they support his own body. And Jim's apparently given up on the gentleness. He's exactly what Sebastian always expects him to be- rough and fast and uncaring, and Sebastian's all but keening from the sudden change. It's all he can do to breathe normally, let alone get any words out. Then's Jim's hand moved to pull at his head, wrench his head backwards and leave a trail of bruising kisses down his neck. Its when Sebastian's finally undone, and he comes with a gasp. Jim pressed another kiss to his shoulder, all teeth, before pulling away.

“You still smell like gunpowder,” Jim sniffs, apparently unaffected, and Sebastian is alone again. He's still leaning against the tile, water dripping off his back as he tries to catch his breath. He can hear a bell jingle on the door as Jim opens it, the bastard. “Oh, and merry Christmas Seb,” he calls over his shoulder, and the bell cheerfully announces he's gone.


End file.
